Capstone Magazine
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Monroe Community College 2021 Creative Writing Capstone There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. - Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings INSTAR 1 Table of Contents Author Bios ................................................................................................................................. 3 Glittering ..................................................................................................................................... 5 Moths .......................................................................................................................................... 7 For Something ........................................................................................................................... 11 Beer ........................................................................................................................................... 12 Willow....................................................................................................................................... 13 The Stench ................................................................................................................................ 24 Tangerine .................................................................................................................................. 29 Run Through the Forest ............................................................................................................ 36 Le Fantôme ............................................................................................................................... 38 Summer’s Calling ..................................................................................................................... 48 Masthead ................................................................................................................................... 51 INSTAR 2 Author Bios From Rochester, New York, starting as an environmental science major. A’Viyannia Billingslea took a path of Creative Writing to raise awareness where it lacked. Her writing is mostly environmentally based, with a touch of global realities. With the goal to spread an impacting message among all age groups. Carli Lo Cigno is currently studying Creative Writing and is hoping to pursue a career in editing for a publishing house or a newspaper company. She enjoys reading mysteries, as well as contemporary romances, and would like to write her own novels someday. Carli writes short fiction and has written several works of poetry, in addition to a play. She desires for her audience to be captured by the transparency and kindness of her characters. Isabella Miller will earn an Associates in Creative Writing at the end of this year with plans to transfer to Binghamton. Her work is informed by equal parts wit, sensitivity, and insight. Izzy's interested in branding and digital marketing from a literary angle. V. Lamphere is an avid writer of fiction, particularly favoring the fantasy genre. Much of their work is based off of mythology and folklore, with a focus on mostly LGBTQ+ characters. Often, they write novels with their co-author and friend, Saicha, and the pair hopes to publish the stories they have written both together and independently. Mia Newman is a new writer and currently a Creative Writing major attending Monroe Community College in New York. She is focusing on creative nonfiction and playwriting and plans on continuing her education at Binghamton University. Reatha is currently a Creative Writing major attending Monroe Community College originally from Buffalo, New York. She was once a journalism major but after two semesters realized she wanted to pursue writing full time. She is now focusing on creative fiction and nonfiction writing and plans on continuing her education at Brockport University with a double major in International Studies. Emily L. Newsome is a college student pursuing a Creative Writing degree. She has published short stories in The Writing Disorder Literary Journal and Monroe Community College’s literary magazine Cabbages & Kings, was a second-place winner of the 2021 Langlois Short Fiction Award and the 2021 Callan Research Essay Award, and was a winner of the Spring 2020 and 2021 Sixth Act Playwriting Competitions. INSTAR 3 Vanessa Renee found love in writing not too long ago at MCC. She will soon be published in Borrowed Solace Literary Magazine, and in the college’s publication, Cabbages & Kings, where she is a co-editor. Recently, she placed second for the Rice Award in MCC’s English Department Writing Competition for a creative nonfiction essay. In the coming years, she plans to expand her education of words and communication. Brennan Sprague writes poems and lives in Rochester, NY. A 2020 Best of the Net nominee and finalist for the 2019 Adroit Prize, his work has appeared in Schlag Magazine, Afternoon Visitor, Vallum Magazine, Glass, Ghost City Press, Jet Fuel Review and The Adroit Journal. He is currently pursuing his Associates Degree at Monroe Community College. Brianna Thomas has a passion for Creative Writing. She loves to write about practically anything but her favorite genres include action and romance. She loves to create a female character who has the task of breaking traditions and feeling liberated. Some of her pieces have adjusted the female character with different perspectives and challenges. Brianna is proud of her work and continues to work hard every day to become a better writer. INSTAR 4 Glittering by Brennan Sprague The clearest photograph of the sun looks like a head of hair, These exponential strands of burning flares. Once I looked up Cancer rising bald to find out if my astrological placement That determines your physical appearance leads to baldness And instead found countless links upon links upon links About people with cancer. I can be dumb, vain, clueless. I watch videos on the internet of strangers climbing Sickeningly tall infrastructures without harnesses And my knees go weak. To flirt with death Like they have nice teeth. The birds in the sky Levitate, spellbound. They flock in great formations. Solemn, humbling; here stuck to the grass, its blades Intonations of future lives; to pick one from the earth And scythe it gently across my arm, the earth moving So slow beneath us, deep shadows of summer dusk. The clothesline & its clean sheets haunt the breeze. Honeysuckle & forsythia drift from their glass vases Out of crutched windows into the circle of quiet air. The jaws of bumblebees sheathed around pollinated Tongues. Are you fluent in your own self- destruction? Do you remember when you began? A gloom of stars Roaring wild in the night, all string and yarn, all beams Of light gossiped around the ancient gravitational lurch Of the air? Confused, I stood alone in the lawn gleaming Blue from the July moon, imagined all the worlds beyond Our own—the lost addresses of our past, the translucent INSTAR 5 Curtains of windows fluttering in our excavated sternums, The dark & its mirrors poured in the forests where I once Explored the bone of summer listening for the struck axe— When I heard it, it implied my tongue spoke of nothing But forgiveness. Yes, our fathers exist there, stranded inside The TV screen’s smolder. The breath of cold living rooms, They die slow deaths, attuned to the clarion of fallen trees. Some might call it beauty, beauty extinguished with the flick Of a wrist, the cavalry of the near future summoning, Or ice-coated lakes cracked by footstep, or the fearless Climbing those buildings without hesitation, these buildings We’ve built that could reach the clear eternal, The complete unknown— And there, fringed on the curb of sound, a glittering Of rabbits wander the lucid snow. INSTAR 6 Moths by V. Lamphere Miraslava couldn’t remember when she died. She knows she must have. Because she’s no longer clutching numbly at the gushing wound, fruitlessly trying to keep her guts from spilling out. A river rushes beside her, but these are not the snowy, frigid banks she died on. Damp grass and snowdrops line a pretty, pebbled slope. Wherever she is, it’s not heaven. But she doesn’t think this is hell, either. Shaking, she peels a hand away from her torso, one dark eye warily cracked open to stare at it. No blood. But there must have been. Terrible, terrible amounts of blood–she can remember, the vivid trail of crimson left behind; splattered and splotched and full of gaps from where she’d been tumbling, falling down the sheer hillside into the river. Here, though… Miraslava runs her other hand through the grass, tugging, trying to understand why this all suddenly feels very real. Her soul must have drifted off path, or maybe this is a dying dream. A very vivid dream. She could think of no other way to explain it. Because though she cannot remember the exact moment, she remembers the fading. When the world no longer felt so cold, when the warmness, lightness, crept up on her. And the darkness. Surely she had died, somewhere between here and then. A sound like cloaks fluttering through the air catches her attention, and Miraslava turns, half expecting to find some spirit or other airing their laundry. At this point, it would not have been so strange. But what she sees–what she hears–is stranger. “Lozhustenie, ciodnyak biezeanith thade dreev pién lopsip? Lozhustenie, malittenja dua?” Miraslava blinks, her mouth hanging open halfway between surprise and a desperate question. Before her is a stern, feminine face. Dark, solemn eyes set in peach-tan skin, coils